


an uncurling of ferns

by Cygna_hime



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Prophecy, Arranged Marriage, Fleurentia Week 2018, M/M, Rating Will Almost Certainly Change, Ravus doesn't know how feelings work, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-03-17 03:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13650450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cygna_hime/pseuds/Cygna_hime
Summary: Queen Sylva decides that it is time for her son to be married. Ravus has only limited say in this; Ignis Scientia has even less.





	1. Chapter 1

Ravus was not summoned by the queen, as such, but when she sent a message asking if he would take tea with her, of course he complied. Why wouldn’t he? The queen’s time was at a premium, far more than his, so if his mother had made time to see him, he would of course do the same. He spent most of the afternoon writing letters of condolence, which made the prospect of a light meal and light conversation all the more appealing.

Fifteen minutes into teatime, he was beginning to regret his decision.

“ _Marriage_?”

Queen Sylva smiled serenely as if she couldn’t see the shocked expression on his face. “With the war over for now, there is time at last to turn our attention to peaceful affairs. And what affairs could be more important than the marriage of my only son?”

In Ravus’s opinion, practically any. “Surely there is no urgency -”

“Ravus, you are twenty-eight. It is remiss of me to have waited so long, but with the war, other matters took precedence, and then…”

“Father…” Ravus finished her thought.

His mother’s gaze drifted into the middle distance for a moment as they both thought of Virtus Nox Fleuret né Valmont, and in that sad silence Ravus had never felt closer to her. The queen had never publicly wept for her husband; it had been deemed more important that she show an unwavering purpose and unyielding will. But in private, with her children, she showed more of her true feelings. Ravus had not been there with her while her grief had been fresh, but it was a grief they shared even as the passing years took some of the viciousness from its bite.

Then her eyes returned to Ravus, and she was the queen again. “It is time and more than time to think of your future.”

“I have a future,” he protested, “here, in Tenebrae. Have I not done my duty well enough?” He knew his own capability, and he had thought the queen knew it too.

“Of course you have! Tenebrae will never forget all that you have done for her, my son. You have more than earned a place here. Yet, with your sister’s marriage, much will perforce change.”

Yes, Lunafreya’s marriage. Ravus frowned at the thought of it. It was not that he disapproved of his sister’s choices, as such, though he did not feign to understand them, but that her decision to marry meant yet more change. During the war, he had thought often of Fenestala Manor as the eternal home of his childhood, and now he had returned to find that it had moved on without him after all.

“Command of the armies of Tenebrae has ever been the duty of the King-Consort,” his mother said gently.

And what could he say to that? It was true. He had been given command in the field, on that horrible day he still preferred not to think about, by necessity not by choice. It seemed even his own mother still thought of him as a substitute. Had he not done enough, given enough? What more could she want from him?

“But surely -” he began, but the shake of his mother’s head cut him off as sharply as a blow.

“That is how it must be. And it would do you both a disservice, to ask you to serve where once you commanded. Tell me truly: could you be happy so?”

“…No,” he admitted grudgingly. He didn’t _dislike_ Ostium, at least not more than he disliked most people, but the idea of working under him, guiding the man in replacing him – no. That would be insupportable. “But what choice do I have, since you won’t allow me to keep the position I have earned with my shed blood?” Perhaps his voice was louder than appropriate in speaking to the queen. But she was also his mother, and he at least still had the right to be heard by her.

She chose not to notice his breach of etiquette – nor his point. “A good marriage would provide you with another outlet for your energies: an estate to run, perhaps, or a division of men-at-arms to command. Not to mention the benefits of building a rapport with another person.”

“I do not require a _rapport_ ,” Ravus said curtly. He had done well enough without, these twenty-eight years. He had not had the time for such things, and that was how he liked it. (Though somehow his sister had managed to make the time, and for three at once at that.)

“Not everything is a question of requirement, Ravus,” Queen Sylva said as gently as the falling snow. “What of your happiness?”

“I have been happy!” he protested. “You are the one who seeks to change that!”

“No,” said his mother, “you have not been happy, and I regret that I and circumstances have left you without a basis for comparison. I desire that for you, my son, the true joy and peace that you have always deserved.”

Ravus took another petit four to avoid responding. Such a statement was unanswerable. His mother had clearly made up her mind, and even had she not been the queen, there would have been no arguing with her. Besides, what argument could be made against such a heartfelt wish for his happiness? He doubted that a marriage would make him happy, but how could he tell her so, when he knew how much she still mourned the husband she had deeply loved? In her mind, a good marriage was the key to bliss, and now that Lunafreya was taking matters into her own hands, that left only Ravus to bear the brunt of her well-wishes.

Besides, he thought bitterly, it would solve him quite neatly. As long as he was around, he stood as competition with Lunafreya’s pet Kingsglaives – former Kingsglaives, now – for the loyalty of their soldiers. He could make a great deal of trouble for them, if he wanted. Ravus admitted to himself that he did want: how dare they come in and supplant him, replacing his years of dedication with a little borrowed magic and winning smiles? They did not even _have_ the magic anymore, not since they had sworn themselves to Tenebrae instead of Lucis! They had _nothing_ , except…except Lunafreya’s heart. And that weighed more than all.

He looked down into his teacup with slumped shoulders. Even if he refused to marry, insisted on remaining here, fought for his place in the sun, what good would it do? Even if he succeeded in preventing the upstarts from supplanting him with his soldiers, such an action would only wound Lunafreya. He could have defied his future queen, but not hurt his little sister.

Ravus readjusted his posture and tried to make himself look less resentful than he felt. It did not succeed. “Very well. I presume you have already assembled a list of prospects?”

His mother was not fooled, but Queen Sylva let it pass. “I have. It is not so long a list as it would have been ten or even five years ago, for…a number of reasons. But it will serve, I hope. Now, if you wish to remain in Tenebrae -”

“Not Tenebrae,” Ravus cut in. It would be too difficult, to be so close to home and yet apart from it. Besides, far too many of his age-mates had gone off to war never to return, and not all of the survivors were ones he would have chosen. “If I wanted one of our own, I would have had him by now.” He flushed lightly at the pronoun: he had never spoken to his mother of his preferences, largely hypothetical as they were.

“Very well, let us set those aside, then. An alliance elsewhere would be ideal, at any rate.” After all, Lunafreya wasn’t doing much in that regard. Any connection her marriage might encourage rested on the liberation of Galahd, far from a sure thing. And it wasn’t as if her _entanglements_ were even nobility-in-exile. “Accordo is somewhat lacking in landed nobility these days, as such, but the Privy Council has done fairly well for themselves. Camelia has a nephew two or three years your senior, recently widowed with two children, who might be seeking another match.”

Ravus frowned. “I’m not sure I should care to come second.” He was too aware of his own faults as a spouse to think he would benefit from the comparison. Moreover, he wasn’t at all sure how he felt about children. His few experiences suggested that they found him unpleasant.

His mother glanced at him with concern. “Ravus, you know that most men of your age and station have already married, or present a clear reason why no one would have them.”

“I know,” he said, “but surely with the war, I am not the only one to put military duty first.”

“Not in Tenebrae, no, but Accordo is still nominally a protectorate of Niflheim. We are working to change that, of course – Camelia has been most courteous – but those who set aside marriage, fought on Niflheim’s behalf.”

And those Ravus would not accept if they were the last men on Eos.

“There were few enough of those,” the queen added. “Accordo sent no regular forces to Niflheim’s aid. It has ever been their way, to wield coin instead of blade. To have that on our side again would be a great thing.” She sighed. “Alas, I am not certain I can countenance sending you to Accordo in any case, not under these conditions. Camelia does her best, but if Niflheim came in force to demand your surrender, she would comply to spare her people.”

The Empire did not scruple to use hostages, this Ravus knew. “I trust you would not allow yourself to be coerced on my behalf,” he said stiffly. He had always known that Tenebrae’s freedom might demand his life.

“I would not,” his mother agreed. “But knowing that, I would, if I must send you so far away, place you beyond their reach.”

“Lucis, then,” said Ravus, following her train of thought.

“I think so, yes, if you are sure that Tenebrae has no sons to offer you that you find pleasing?”

It was an offer to back away from this now, to stay within reach of his family, but Ravus would not take it. He knew his options here too well. Better a stranger in a foreign land than a man he already despised in a country that had already established it had no place for him. “There are none.”

From the way his mother smiled, he thought that this was what she had been angling for all along. “Very well. I have prepared some brief dossiers on the flower of Lucian nobility. Feel free to peruse them at your leisure, and come to me with your choice, or if you need further advice.” She gestured to a servant, who bowed and presented a small stack of files to Ravus. The audience was clearly concluded.

Ravus would have left the files to moulder for as long as possible, were it not for the fact that word of his conversation with the queen traveled like lightning through Fenestala Manor. By dinner-time, it seemed that everyone knew he was to find a spouse in Lucis. Lunafreya smiled at him as if they were sharing a delightful secret, as if their circumstances were in the least alike, and Ulric, in Ravus’s mind the least objectionable of his sister’s suitors, drew him aside and said, “If there’s anyone in particular you’re looking at, Glaives don’t mix with the nobility but we spend a lot of time standing guard over them, and our ears work fine.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Ravus said, and somewhat to his own surprise it was true. He had not the faintest idea how to go about selecting the person he was to be married off to, but knowing that someone at least might keep him from making too disastrous of a mistake made it a little less daunting.

He could have been taking advantage of his last few days of command to make sure the Manor Guards were polished to within an inch of their lives (no one would take over and think that _he_ was lacking), but instead Ravus sat down in his study with the files to see whom his mother had selected for him.

They were all very young, was his first thought: most of them were at least a year or two his junior, although that wasn’t what he meant. It was something in the softness of their features, the openness of their expressions, that said all too clearly that they had no idea what war and privation were. Even the two who were older than he was looked younger. He was supposed to pick one of these...these _children_ to spend the rest of his life beside? What could they possibly have in common? He understood that having things in common was critical to successful relationships.

But pick one of them he must, or go back and tell his mother that he would be staying in Tenebrae as an unfortunate loose end after all. Ravus addressed himself once more to the pile.

He began by going through them and discarding any below the rank of Count, or at least heir to same. If he was going to make a political alliance with his body, he might as well do the thing properly. Then he tucked the photographs to the back and started going through the actual useful information on those who remained. His mother’s agents had apparently been informed of the nature of their assignment (before he had!), because the files largely read like social media profiles with commentary. In fact, many of them _contained_ social media profiles. Ravus found most of those difficult to parse.

The excerpts from gossip magazines were much more enlightening. Ravus was all too familiar with the ability of popular media to misconstrue the clearest and most innocent action, but he trusted the articles would not have been put in if they were not helpful. He began sorting the files again, this time into three piles based on the overall tone of the gossip: largely negative, largely positive, and neutral or impossible to tell.

There were not many positives.

Was this truly the best Lucis could offer? Ravus looked at one particularly thick file with disgust. Philanderers and scandal-mongers who seemed to have nothing better to do than go out drinking and challenge each other to duels they never actually fought? The best of the lot, from an objective standpoint, was the man who seemed to be constantly attending social galas and hospital openings, but Ravus was far from longing to leap into his arms and tie their fortunes together forever. Besides, the notes accompanying the material suggested that all was not as neat and lovely as it seemed on the surface.

Out of curiosity he brought the file to Ulric, who took one look at the name and attached photograph and made a face as though he had eaten something particularly foul. “Beats his servants,” he said, adding darkly, “and worse. Can’t press charges against a lord like that, but word gets around.”

Ravus doubted the man would dare treat him like a servant, but that didn’t make spending his life beside such a man any more appealing. He thanked Ulric for his advice and returned to the files.

It would have been easier, he thought as he thumbed through the pile for the dozenth time, if he’d wanted to get married. Then he might have seen something in a photograph to make his heart beat faster, or whatever. He had some doubts about the heart’s value as an instrument of decision, but it would have been simpler.

In the end, he let his frustration settle the matter: he took all those he had yet to reject (not many), shut his eyes, shuffled them, and grabbed for one at random. It seemed as good a method as any.

The folder under his hand belonged to Count Ignis Scientia, adviser to the Crown Prince and member of their Crownsguard, decorated with Lucis’s Silver Star of Valor for unspecified actions during the war. Ravus frowned. As random choices went, he could have done worse: Scientia was ideal politically, as close to the throne as nearly anyone could be, and unless they were giving out accolades as political prizes not unacquainted with battle. And yet…

He was so young, for one thing, only twenty-two, six years Ravus’s junior. For another, rumor had him entangled with Prince Noctis, his Shield, and more. There was no evidence Ravus would admit in court, but if any of those rumors were true, Ravus might be set aside as soon as they were married – or have his suit rejected out of hand, which did not sit well with his dignity.

…Would it be so bad, to be set aside? Ravus forced himself to consider. His pride as Prince of the Blood of Tenebrae said it would, but given that he did not particularly want to be married, there might be benefits to a spouse who did not particularly want to be married to him. So long as he could find something to do with himself in Lucis, he could do worse. If he could not, it would be insupportable regardless of his husband’s feelings.

The truth was, he was looking for reasons to be displeased, and that would get him nowhere. Since it was his mother’s wish that he choose one of these men, he could not wait for the perfect prospect. Any of these men might make married life a misery; there was no way of telling in advance. And there was certainly no one he _preferred_ to Scientia.

He did, however, consult with Ulric on the matter. He found the former Glaive standing guard outside Lunafreya’s office. “What do you know of Ignis Scientia?” he asked without preamble.

Ulric, unhelpfully, shrugged. “Only what everyone knows; he keeps his cards close to his chest. Polite enough, but he never had much time for anyone outside the royal circle. Busy guy. Prince Noctis wouldn’t be alive without him, I know that much.”

“Was he romantically involved with Prince Noctis?” Ravus had to ask: the guilty curiosity refused to leave him.

“Well, I mean, they _say_ , but they don’t know shit in my experience,” Ulric said with a chuckle. “Especially about the prince. Kid’s never dated anyone officially, so everyone he hangs out with gets the full treatment. Why? You jealous already?”

“What? No!” Ravus spluttered in surprise.

Ulric just laughed. Ravus reconsidered his assessment of the man as “least objectionable”. “Ignis Scientia doesn’t seem the type to run around on you. Just saying.”

That time, Ravus did _not_ thank him.

Nevertheless, he considered Ulric’s words (the reasonable ones) carefully. It might be better, to be married to someone who understood what duty and obligation were. Someone busy, who wouldn’t object to Ravus seeking out a serious occupation. Someone reserved, who wouldn’t feel the need to flaunt their relationship publicly. Someone who would be content to go on with his life and let Ravus do the same.

It might not be so bad.

The next day, Ravus arranged with the queen’s secretary for a private audience. His mother deserved to know his decision as soon as possible.

Typically, she frowned when he presented Scientia’s file to her. “Are you certain?”

“Should I not be? If you know of aught to his discredit, I would learn it.”

“Nothing of any great weight, only…he is a very cold young man, from what I have seen of him. Is that what you wish?”

“Entirely.” Ravus knew many spoke of him as cold as well; they would be well suited in that respect. He would not know what to do with passion.

The frown lines did not disappear from her brow, but she relented into a smile. “I suppose he is very handsome, isn’t he? Perhaps you will melt his heart.”

“Mother!” He knew she was only teasing, but all the same he wished she wouldn’t. His marriage wasn’t going to be the grand romance she seemed to be angling for. No matter how gently she put it, he had been forced into this; it wasn’t about love, but about choosing, sight unseen, the least repugnant future. He refused to be happy about it.

“I will send word to his family and to Regis at once, and I have no doubt he will accept,” she said. It was nice that _someone_ was excited. He would do worse if it would make his mother happy. “Is there anything you particularly wish put into the terms of the contract?”

This, Ravus had already considered. “I do not relinquish my Tenebraean citizenship,” he said firmly. “Otherwise, I trust your judgment.”

“Of course!” His mother reached over and pressed his hand gently with her own. “You will always have a home here if you need it.”

He needed it _now_ , he thought but did not say. Her decision had been made, and in all honesty he could not say that he would not have done the same in her place. Tenebrae would always be his home, even if Fenestala could not be.

Bowing, he left his mother to compose the offer of marriage and went back to his rooms, where he sat and tried to guess at the shape of the rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Ignis’s life changed quite abruptly, on a chilly afternoon in mid-March. The gardens were just beginning to come in green, Noct was putting in a creditable effort at collating the month’s budget reports, and King Regis telephoned Ignis and asked to see him.

“At your earliest convenience,” he said calmly over the phone. “I would call it important but not urgent.” When Ignis attempted to inquire further, the king merely reassured him that it was in no way a question of disciplinary action, and five o’clock would suit him just fine. “You may stay for dinner if you like,” he added, “it’s been almost a month, hasn’t it?”

“Three weeks,” Ignis said absently, most of his mind already considering the possibilities (Noct called it “fretting”, but what did he know?), “certainly, Your Majesty, I would be delighted.”

Noct looked up when he came back into the office they shared (Ignis nominally had his own, but it was in quite a different part of the Citadel and as such deeply inconvenient). “Anything wrong, Specs?”

“No, apparently not. Your father has something to discuss with me, that’s all.”

“Something secret?”

“Secret from _me_ , at any rate. How is the budget going?”

“I’m going to eat the next page that’s all fluff trying to justify someone’s vanity project. Nom nom nom,” declared the heir to the throne of Lucis.

“I can’t think that would be healthy. Half-baked ideas might give you mental salmonella.”

“Ew.”

Thus prevailed upon to refrain from devouring his foes to gain their powers, Noct went back to his work, and Ignis to his: looking over the final arrangements for Noct’s appearances at the Equinoctial Festival. It was coming on fast, and the weather could not be relied upon, which meant a great deal of contingencies.

He did not, however, fail to wonder what King Regis wished to discuss with him that was so important. Something relating to Noct, no doubt, but what? As far as he was aware, Noct hadn’t been up to any particular hijinks recently (and Ignis usually _was_ aware, not to say involved). Perhaps a security breach? But no, that would have been urgent as well as important. If Noct had been gallivanting about with Prompto and Gladio inappropriately, _again_ , and been caught in a compromising position by the tabloids, Ignis would make sure the kitchens served strictly vegetarian fare for a week.

By four forty-five, Noct had defeated the budget in single combat and was celebrating by lying on the couch upside down, playing King’s Knight; Ignis had written three different revisions of the plans as new information was delivered to him by courier, and was beginning to think this whole Festival thing more trouble than it was worth. So it was with some relief that he sent the (hopefully) final revision off and packed up his things. His rooms were just down the way; he could drop his briefcase off there on the way to the King’s apartments.

One good thing to be said for moving back into the Citadel, he mused as he walked its wide halls, was how much less time everything took. A scant year ago he would have had to drive from Noct’s apartment to the Citadel, making even a brief visit a significant time commitment. Noct’s decision to sublet that apartment to Prompto and spend most of his time at the Citadel certainly made Ignis’s life easier.

King Regis was in his study, Ignis was informed when he duly presented himself at the door to the sub-wing reserved for the King’s daily business. Once, so long ago that he himself barely remembered it, Ignis would have been intimidated to walk in on the king in such an intimate setting, but now he simply nodded to the door guards and strode in, dropping into a bow as he did.

“Your Majesty wished to see me?”

“Hello, Ignis. Do take a seat.” The King was seated not behind his desk but in a comfortable armchair by the windows, bad leg up on an ottoman as he worked it through a series of stretches. One of the conditions for Noct’s return to the Citadel had been that his father do what could be done for his Crystal-induced weakness, and His Majesty seemed to have taken the insistence to heart. Ignis sank into the facing chair with a smile. It seemed that it ran in the blood, to need to be prodded into taking care of oneself.

“I received a call from Sylva this morning, warning me of some documents she will be sending to your uncle, and I thought it best for you to hear it as soon as possible.”

“Your Majesty?” Ignis wondered what the Queen of Tenebrae might have to do with him, or with his uncle for that matter. As far as he was aware, they’d had no opportunity to offend her – not that she was quick to take offense, unlike some – in recent months, and everything to do with his mothers’ Tenebraean property was long resolved, he thought.

King Regis was quick to answer his unspoken question. “She tells me she is making an offer of marriage for you, on behalf of her son, Ravus.”

Ignis prided himself on keeping his composure whenever possible, but on this occasion he was, frankly, gobsmacked. “Marriage? For me?” 

“Indeed. The details are to follow, but from what she tells me, the offer is meant in all seriousness. Sylva is aware of your duties to Noctis and would not call you away; Prince Ravus would come to live here. In fact, I gather he insisted on it.”

“But – why?” Ignis gathered himself together with an effort. “That is to say, why me in particular? The political advantages of such a connection would of course be considerable, but surely there are better choices for a match.” He had been reminded enough recently that his personal attractions were somewhat lacking nowadays.

“You sell yourself short, Ignis,” said King Regis gently. “I cannot imagine a finer young man than you have grown into. Anyone should be proud to have you for a husband.”

Well, of course King Regis would think so. Ignis did not feel up to arguing with him about this. To give voice to the things he had heard since coming back from Noct’s quest would give them a power he refused to allow them. Besides, it would only hurt the man who had been like a father to him to no purpose. “But we have never met. Has he no friend he prefers?”

“Apparently not.” The King frowned slightly. “You are under no obligation to accept. Sylva has spoken of him to me as an able general and a dutiful son, but I know little of him beyond that. At the very least, allow me to inquire further.”

“Yes,” Ignis agreed. “Yes, that would be best.” He required more information before committing one way or the other.

He told Noct immediately, of course; the Prince dropped his phone on his face in surprise. “But you’re not taking it, are you?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Ignis replied, mostly out of curiosity. He knew his own misgivings, but what were Noct’s?

“He’s so old! He’s like a million years old!”

“Prince Ravus is twenty-eight,” Ignis reminded him gently.

“Right, like a million. And he’s a jerk. I mean, Luna likes him, I guess, but she kind of has to? He’s her brother and all. But I know he really annoys her sometimes, and Luna likes _everybody_.”

That did seem to be the case. Nonetheless… “You annoy me sometimes,” Ignis pointed out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, that’s different.” With an effort, Noct turned himself right-side up again. “Do you _want_ to marry him or something?”

Ignis paused. Did he? He was certainly acting as if he did. He thought it was just for the sake of disagreeing with Noct, but what were his real feelings? “I…don’t _not_ want to. And it would be politically convenient. I certainly couldn’t marry higher.”

Noct favored him with an extremely skeptical look, which he repeated when the two of them were joined by Prompto and Gladio after dinner. “… which is total bullshit, because you don’t care about any of that,” he concluded.

As it happened, Ignis did not. As his uncle’s heir, he had and could expect to always have wealth more than sufficient to his needs; as for power, the title of Hand of the King meant more than any mere marriage could bring him. No doubt plenty would leap at the chance to wed a prince and score points in the game of status, but Ignis flattered himself that he had more important things to concern himself with.

“It would be advantageous for the country, to have a closer relationship with Tenebrae,” he pointed out instead.

Noct blew a raspberry at him. “More bullshit! Luna’s my best friend, besides you guys. And her mom’s great too. We don’t _need_ a marriage alliance.”

“Tenebrae might, though,” Gladio said. “They need us more than we need them right now, for the war. If we pulled our troops, it wouldn’t go well for them.”

“Okay, but we’re not going to do that. Besides, we need them too, if we’re going to march on Niflheim. They’re the best staging point.”

“Do you really think that’s why Queen Sylva offered?” asked Prompto. “I mean, is she worried about that?”

“I very much doubt it,” Ignis replied. “Which does raise the question of why she _did_ offer.”

“Maybe her son just wants to marry you?” Prompto fiddled with the silver bracelet around his left wrist.

Ignis snorted, to which Noct responded with a, “Hey!”

“You’re a fine figure of a man, Iggy,” Gladio agreed. “Not to mention the whole decorated war hero thing. Maybe Prince Ravus saw a picture of you and fell in love at first sight.”

Ignis pointedly turned his bad eye toward him, raising the associated eyebrow as best he could. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Isn’t he missing an arm? Just saying.”

Noct sat up from his customary slouch and peered at Ignis. “Have people been saying things again? I swear, if you just tell me who, they’re totally fired.”

“You can’t fire hereditary nobility, Noct.”

“Watch me.”

“Okay, but aside from people being jerks, do you want to get married? Like, at all?”

Leave it to Prompto to shoot straight to the heart of the matter. Ignis was forced to pause and consider his answer.

He had never thought – well, never _much_ thought – of getting married in the near future; perhaps it would happen someday, but then again, perhaps not. There were always other options, as far as inheritance went, and seeing the young nobility of Lucis so often in the course of his duties with Noct had done nothing but put him off most of the ones who would have him. There had been requests in the past, certainly, but Uncle Cinis had always gently rejected them on Ignis’s behalf. He simply did not have _time_ to be a husband.

That said, it was true that he was finding his schedule somewhat less packed of late, since Noct had truly come into his own and begun taking charge of his own affairs. While there would never come a time when Noct did not need him, it was true that Ignis had more time than previously. Time enough to give a spouse the attention they deserved? He truly did not know. How was one to measure such things?

But if he _did_ have time, he had to admit to himself that there was something appealing about having a partner, someone he could involve in his life and come home to at the end of the day. His friends were wonderful, but there was something missing. They had each other, and what did Ignis have? Casual encounters and failed attempts at relationships.

“…I would not want to marry someone I was not fond of,” he said slowly. “And even then, it is a risky business, when the stakes are so high.”

“Loving is always a risk,” Gladio said, tucking Noct and Prompto against his sides with one arm each. “That doesn’t make it not worth it.”

Ignis looked at the way they curled into him, the way Prompto stilled into a seldom-seen calm, the way Noct blushed slightly, and felt a single sharp curl of envy. “And with a stranger? Someone I have never so much as met?” he asked to cover it up.

Gladio shrugged. “At least you know he has good taste.”

While Ignis was rolling his eyes, Noct jabbed Gladio in the side. “You’re supposed to be talking him out of it!”

Gladio appeared totally unmoved. “Just saying, you might as well at least meet him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could end up shackled to a monster,” Ignis said drily.

“I’m not saying marry him straight off, I’m saying meet him, give it a try. It’s not like the King will make you go through with it if you don’t want to.”

“He may not have a choice. Royalty tend to take engagements seriously. As you yourself said, we need Tenebrae.”

“He won’t make you.” Noct was still cranky, but his voice was confident. “Even if Queen Sylva tried to, which she won’t, Dad wouldn’t.”

“The Council might hold a different opinion.”

“The Council can’t order you to get married. Not even Dad can do that. Maybe your uncle, but it’d be awful hypocritical of him.” Noct made a face. “Ew, I sound like I’m telling you to do it! Don’t do it, Ignis, it’d be horrible and you’d be stuck with him forever and ever and ever, because divorce isn’t a thing, or something.”

“Noct…”

“I think what Noct’s saying is you should do what you want, and not worry too much about it,” Prompto piped up.

Easier said than done: worrying was what Ignis did best. However, he made an effort to put it out of his mind for a few hours, the better to return to it fresh. One of the royal secretaries delivered a dossier on Prince Ravus Nox Fleuret, which he read carefully, but it brought him to no certain conclusion. Every fact in it could be interpreted in several ways, and as for the opinions-!

One indisputable fact, however, was that Prince Ravus was very attractive. The recent photographs, from the war, showed signs of stress (and no wonder), but that did not detract from the handsomeness. Rather, Ignis could see himself soothing that tension away…. What was he thinking? He was contemplating _marriage_ , not a brief physical liaison! A handsome face was nice, no doubt, but it was not what _mattered_. Nevertheless…

Ignis spent much of the next day thinking himself in circles, at one point for and the other against. At last, he grasped onto Gladio’s words and held them.

A meeting. A little time to get to know one another, while the ambassadors worked out the terms of a formal engagement. Then, and not before, he would decide.

**Author's Note:**

> *gently crams all the backstory I've thought up for this verse into the corners*
> 
> In matriarchal Tenebrae, Ravus is in more or less the position of an old-school princess in our world: can't rule, and the goal of making a good marriage is kind of assumed.
> 
> Ravus doesn't like thinking about his sister's harem but she does have one and it's going very well, thank you. Crowe and Libertus don't fuck each other but do high-five in the middle of orgies. Fact.
> 
> Please note that Ravus is not a reliable narrator, _especially_ as regards what he himself is thinking and feeling. Feelings? What are those? Are they a food? Can you eat them?
> 
> For the record, I haven't abandoned any of my other works, I'm just horrible at not having epic ideas.


End file.
